A Nearly Normal Family(60)
Anyone who claims that she would never consider revenge, who firmly believes bloody, violent retaliation can never be justified, has never been subjected to rape. It’s even in the Bible: An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Before Jesus fucked everything up with that part about turning the other cheek.
53
Two days later, it’s new-girl Elsa’s turn to take me to the psychologist.
Elsa smells like vanilla. She seems to have a lot of questions in her head, but is far too professional or shy to say anything.
“Stella.”
Shirine gestures at me to have a seat.
Her small Bambi eyes are full of sympathy and trust. It’s hard to dislike Shirine as much as I’m trying to. She’s the kind of person anyone would have trouble not loving. I really want to hate people like that.
“How was your week?”
“Like an all-inclusive trip to the Canary Islands.”
She quashes a small smile. I look at the things on her desk and my eyes linger on a cute, flowery pencil case.
“I had one just like that in elementary school,” I say.
She puts the pencil case away.
“My daughter picked it out.”
Apparently it’s a sensitive subject.
“So what did you think of this?” she asks about The Catcher in the Rye.
“You said it wouldn’t be as depressing.”
“Was it? It’s been years since I read it. I just remember loving it.”
“Well, he ends up in the psych ward,” I say. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s possible to end up any other way in this sick world. Suicide or the psych ward, there doesn’t seem to be any other way out.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way,” Shirine says. “Life can be pretty simple too. You don’t have to make it so hard.”
I stare at her. Is she suggesting that I have only myself to blame? That Esther Greenwood and Holden Caulfield could have had an easier time and felt better if only they’d made different choices and hadn’t made everything so fucking complicated?
“I was thinking about something,” Shirine says. “What you said about how you’ve been to a bunch of psychologists before. What was it you didn’t like?”
I know she’s trying to coax me into sharing. This is just a way to get me to talk. And still I fall for it.
“You’re so sold on diagnoses. You want to force people into ready-made templates. I don’t believe in all that.”
“Know what?” Shirine says. “Me neither. I promise not to diagnose you.”
She sounds sincere.
“For a while I actually wanted to be a psychologist myself,” I say with a snort. “Stupid, huh?”
“Not at all.”
I lean back in the chair and cross my arms.
“Listen,” Shirine says. “Couldn’t you give me a chance? I like to say that everyone deserves a chance. I think it’s a pretty fair proposition.”
“Like you’re going to give me a chance?”
“Of course.” She smiles.
“Why did you become a psychologist?” I ask.
Shirine fiddles with the silvery button of her earring.
“My parents.”
“They wanted you to?”
“No, no, the opposite.” She looks down and runs her fingers through her hair. “They wanted me to become a doctor. My grandfather is a doctor, and so are both my parents. They believe that humans are biological beings first and foremost. They don’t think you can cure illnesses by talking about feelings and other abstract stuff like that.”
She still smiles, although her voice sounds dejected and her eyes are shiny.
“So that’s why you became a psychologist? To rebel?”
“Not really. I’m sure I would have become a doctor if it weren’t for my germaphobia.”
“Germaphobia?”
Shirine nods.
“I’ve undergone therapy.”
“Did it help?”
She gives a dubious smile.
“Maybe you should try drugs.”
Then she bursts into laughter.
“I’m really curious about you, Stella. I want to get to know you.”
“Because I’m a murderer?”
“I don’t know anything about that. You’re still awaiting trial.”
Shirine is polished in a sneaky way. Somehow she’s lured me into a conversation.
“Can I leave now?” I ask.
“Will you come back?”
I look at her in feigned surprise.
“Like I have a choice.”
54
I didn’t actually want to go out. It had been a long Friday at work, and the very thought of getting out of my sweatpants, fixing my hair, and putting on my face exhausted me.
“Come on,” said Amina, who had lined up shots on the desk. “For once I don’t have a match tomorrow.”
She wanted to go to Tegnérs, but said she was open to other ideas too.
“Know what you need?” she asked, handing me a shot glass brimming with surface tension. “To get laid.”
“Seriously? The only dudes I need right now are called Ben and Jerry.”